An Innocent Man
by CorosiveVile
Summary: Camerlengo Patrick McKenna is not to blame for the Illuminati plot to destroy the Vatican. A story where Patrick is innocent.


AN: Beware, this is only my second story submitted to , and my first to this series. This is movie-verse, using the Camerlengo Patrick McKenna, because he is my favorite character and I think his character should have been innocent, even though that isn't exactly the case. This is my version of the "prompt" that 'Patrick McKenna is innocent.'

Disclaimer: I do not own ANYTHING.

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><p>Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was standing by the window, looking out to the crowd below. Watching the people whose lives are threatened by the antimatter continue to flock to St. Peters square, continue to wait for word of the election of the new Holy Father.<p>

Patrick stood in solemn silence, listening to the soft murmurs and loud arguments of those below. His roasry was clutched in his hand, and he rolled the soft beads between his fingers, fingers grabbing hold of the next in line as he continued to pray. Not only for the safety of the people below him, but for the safety of the people within the church. The Cardinals locked in conclave. He had faith that Robert Langdon, the professor who has not yet received the gift of faith as he said only hours earlier, would save the last preferiti, and would find the bomb and save the church.

The soft sound of the door opening reached his ears and he turned, surprised and hopeful. He had asked to not be disturbed unless by Professor Langdon, who should have returned with news of their place in the situation at hand. But as he faced the door, it was not Robert standing there, but the head of Vatican Security, Commander Richter.

"Commander? What is it?" Patrick moved towards him as he spoke. The thoughts in his mind were jumbled. Why was he here? Had something gone wrong?

It was only when he saw the Head of Security locking the door and pulling the gun out of its holster did he realize something was wrong.

Patrick froze in place for a second, confusion crossing his features before realization took hold.

'_There was not a single powerful association that the Illimunati did not infiltrate. Including the Vatican.'_

"No…"

He stepped backwards until he reached the wall by the fireplace. This man, Richter, whom he trusted, was part of the cause for all of this...? Could it be that he himself had poisoned the Pontiff? He chould not believe it, but here he was, pointing a gun at him, the Camerlengo.

"It must be done, Father. You are the end." Commander Richter's eyes held nothing as he said the damning words, while Patricks widened for a split second.

I am the end? He thought. What could he mean? Unless…

"You intend to brand and kill me as the Preferiti?"

"Yes."

Patrick hesitated slightly before dashing towards the door. If he could make it, if he could make it... He darted around the Commander before the man realized what was happening. The Camerlengs fingers grazed the wooden frame before his collar was grabbed and he was pulled back harshly.

As soon as his back hit the floor he turned, trying to scramble away so he could figure out how to gain the advantage, as he was unarmed, before a loud bang sounded throughout the room.

There was a slight delay until the telltale pain appeared in his upper right chest. He groaned, curling into a ball and grabbing his wound.

Richter had just shot him.

The man stalked forward until he reached the fallen Camerlengo. He glared down at the young man before kicking him in the ribs, effectively turning him over onto his back.

There was a pounding on the door, and he knew that the guards outside would find a means to enter the closed room.

He reached into the fireplace where he knew the brand would be waiting. As he pulled it out, he admired the fiery glow of the crossed keys before turning back to Patrick.

As he pulled open McKennas Cossack, a soft voice reached his ears.

"Were you the only one?"

The Head of Security looked up at the Camerlengo, meeting his eyes, before a wicked expression crossed his face.

"No."

And with that, he pushed the brand of the crossed keys onto Patricks chest, ears deaf to the young mans screams and pleas of mercy. He only watched as the brand burned into flesh, the sight almost overwhelming.

It was the last thing he saw before the door burst open and a bullet was put into his head.


End file.
